


forever fall

by kalypsobean



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 02:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12546672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: In which not everybody feels at home.





	forever fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IdleLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/gifts).



For Glorfindel, Valinor is home, but it feels as strange to him as had Rivendell, once upon a time. There are faces he remembers; he is not lost even when the dock is beyond sight, and his way is paved with cries of welcome and joy. 

It feels too big, too bright, too warm; he misses the way the leaves crackled underfoot, the way his cloak lifted just enough on the breeze to allow him to move freely. His rooms are too plain, too white, too high. He closes the windows against the ocean, the view giving him no comfort.

 

Tirion was meant to bring joy to Erestor, but it is not his. A place was kept for him, but it fits him ill; the knowledge in its halls does not sate him, for there is little which is new. He finds the roads wide and long, and far too loud. He cannot find a place of quiet, where his thoughts are not fractured and he is not sought out, his peace denied solely for the curiosity of others.

There is no silence in Tirion, nor are there nights of true dark, or days where the sun herself hides away. 

 

Haldir is bored. For all the positioning and politics, there is little in the way of war, and no need for borders, nor protection. There is, therefore, little need for the skills he has honed, or even his counsel, for unrest is all he knows. 

There is little to entertain him in the ways of peace; few have the patience to teach him, and he will always be thousands of years younger, centuries less experienced, and he will always look deep into every shadow in case it looks back. In this land of light, he will never come to rest.

 

Glorfindel doubts the coincidence of their meeting, for there are many ways out of the city and yet they are on the same path at the same hour, their possessions never unpacked, and their hoods up, as if secrecy was a thing they could still claim. It had been a stray thought, not quite a dream, a reckless impulse on which he acted only to relish his freedom to do so. He knows too well the reach of the Valar. 

He also knows the lands which lie ahead, and remembers how to build a city that can never be found.

 

Erestor is grateful to not be alone, though it was the thing he most sought. Glorfindel greeted him with just a touch, and stayed close enough that Erestor felt as if, for once, he was protected, safe enough to think without fear of who might be near. 

Erestor's thoughts are of a city, carved of marble but with a roof of leaves that turn brown but never fall, where all will be welcome without judgment or rank, and family means loyalty and trust, without deceit.

He does not look back, knowing he will be safe, and he will be free.

 

Haldir follows them, his knives a familiar weight on his waist, and his bow wrapped at his side. There are things about war other than fighting, things which may be of use outside a city where nobody goes unfulfilled, to others who cannot find their place, who accept him without question for who he is. 

He will no longer be an outsider, for Glorfindel and Erestor do not turn him away.

As the stones give way to grass, and the sunlight is filtered through golden branches above his head, he feels, at last, that they have found their promised home.


End file.
